Remembering
by Abidilydaly131
Summary: Haunted by a forgotten past, an ex-soldier travels to London to learn the truth. But his presence causes a stir and sets off a series of lies which, if discovered, could ruin the lives of the woman he left behind and the man who would do anything to keep her. ((Basically: Florian isn't dead and Roger tries to hide it from Josie! YAY! *evil laughter*))
1. Chapter 1

Hello lovelies. I am unashamedly in denial so I've started this fic. Enjoy!

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**November 11th, 1918**

His head rung with pain and his eyes squinted against the bright lights. It was several minutes before he could finally see where he was.

He was in a hospital, or what appeared to be a hospital. The room had clearly seen better days. The paint was chipped and the electric lights sputtered out every few minutes. There were several metal beds in the room, but they seemed out of place.

As he blinked through his blurry vision, he could make out doctors and nurses scurrying around the room. Many were speaking French, much to his delight. He thought he might never hear his native tongue since his journey to London.

He turned his head to watch some nurses working at the bed beside his. The man laying there had bloodied bandages around his head and chest. The man winced in pain as they peeled away the soiled cloth and administered new ointment.

Having completed the job, the head nurse, or at least he assumed she was the head nurse, turned to him.

"Oh, he's awake, sir!" she called out to a doctor across the room.

The doctor hurried to him and began to check his pulse.

"Slowly returning to normal, that's good," he murmured as he went on to examine his eyes.

The nurse scribbled on the clipboard chained to the foot of his bed, "Should I let Renard know, sir? He's been asking all morning."

The doctor nodded and she started to leave the room, but the door swung open as a man, in full army uniform, entered.

"Oh thank god!" he exclaimed as he walked to his bedside, "I'd begun to lose hope!"

"Just a minute, Renard," the doctor warned him gently, "I've got to ask him a few questions."

The man nodded, "Of course, sir."

The doctor turned to his patient, "Can you tell me where you are from?"

He nodded, "Dinant, Belgium."

"And who is this beside me?" the doctor asked, pointing to the man in uniform.

"Antoine Renard, my old school friend," he replied

The doctor and Antoine exchanged a smile of relief.

"And what year is it?" the doctor went on lightly.

He laughed, "1914."

The doctor's smile faded, "What?"

"1914," he repeated calmly.

Antoine looked to the doctor, worry creeping on every line of his face.

The doctor turned from Antoine, "Where were you before you passed out? What do you remember seeing?"

He thought for a moment and slowly answered, "I was in London, after the attack...I was walking up to a big brick house."

"Oh god..." Antoine whispered to himself, "You don't remember?" he asked anxiously and sat on the edge of the small cot.

"Sir, please," the doctor insisted, "Give him space."

"The trenches? The war?" Antoine went on frantically, "You've fought beside me for months! You saved my life!"

He shook his head in confusion, "What are you talking about?"

"Renard, please!" the doctor shouted.

Antoine finally stepped away, but his eyes were panicked as he began to pace by the end of the bed.

The doctor looked back to his patient and sighed, "Do you remember anything else?"

His brow wrinkled as he looked about the room, "This doesn't make any sense," he muttered and sat up in the bed, "What happened? Why am I here?"

"Please," the doctor stated, putting a firm hand on his arm, "What else do you remember? Why were you at the house?"

"I..." he practically whispered, "I was going to stay there...She was giving me a home."

"Who was?"

"The woman..." he explained, his eyes beginning to water though he did not know why, "She opened the door to the house... she was smiling...She...er..." he watched as Antoine stopped pacing to stare at him, "She had blue eyes..."

"And?"

"I..." he swallowed hard as the shock set in, "I do not remember anything else after that."

The doctor sighed solemnly , "And what is your name?"

He shook his head nervously "I know who I am."

The doctor tried to calm him, "It is just a question."

"I know who I am!" he cried out, grabbing the doctor's arm, "I was born in Dinant, Belgium on the 24th of January in 1889! My father's name is Frederick and my mother's name is Rachelle! I have two sisters, Anne and Bridgette! I studied music under Monsieur Travail in Brussels for ten years before I joined his orchestra! I was in Paris when my home was attacked and my family killed! I escaped to London, where I was offered a home, a refuge! I am Florian Dupont, I know who I am, and don't you dare tell me otherwise!" he shouted, tears beginning to stream down his cheeks, "Now please...tell me where I am."

The doctor nodded calmly and gently pulled his arm away before speaking, "You are in an army hospital in Antwerp. You joined the Belgium army over a year ago, in August of 1917. You recently suffered a massive blow to the head on the 7th of November 1918 when you pushed a fellow soldier, Antoine Renard, out of the path of enemy fire. You've been recovering here for the past week."

"That's not possible..." Florian muttered, looking to Antoine for reassurance, "Tell me this is not true."

Antoine stepped to his side, "It is, my friend. But the war is over! Let us celebrate that."

He closed his eyes, not caring about the end of a war he did not remember fighting.

"What should I write on his record, doctor?" Florian heard the nurse ask quietly , "Amnesia?"

Florian let the word roll around his mind for a moment as the doctor confirmed her query and went on to suggest recovery options.

"When I release him, I think you should return to your village together. Go help your people rebuild their lives," he told Antoine, who listened intently, "Beginning a future is the surest way to overcome the past."

"But will I ever remember again?" Florian opened his eyes and interrupted the good doctor's advice.

"Perhaps," he laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, "Although with this war, I cannot imagine there is anything you would want to."

"No..." Florian sighed as a fleeting image of the smiling woman flashed in his memory, "I suppose not."

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Please leave a review if you liked it!

I intend to write more, but seeing as exams are approaching, I may be a bit busy.


	2. Chapter 2

Hello lovelies! I've finally been able to post this next chapter and I hope you enjoy!

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**November 11, 1924**

"Florian, come look!" Antoine called from the bottom of the stairs, "The parade is starting!"

It had been nearly five years since Florian and Antoine returned to their village on the outskirts of Dinant. In that time, they worked to repair the old abandoned houses in the center of town. They now occupied the smallest of them: a quaint cottage with little more than a parlor, kitchen, bedroom, and attic. Florian had claimed the attic outright, though Antoine would happily have given up the larger room downstairs. But Florian adored the view from the upper window and could think of nothing better than to sit at the edge of his bed and watch the boats drift down the River Meuse.

It was from this window that Florian glanced out onto the small street below.

A group of children passed by, tossing flowers in the air and dancing in circles as a horse pulled along a cart decorated with red, black, and yellow ribbons. Inside sat three trumpeters, blaring out a tune he barely recognized from his childhood. He saw Antoine dart out amongst the children and take the smallest in his arms, twirling the dear lad in the air.

Florian laughed, but it was a sad sort of laugh. He loved his dear little village but, ever since his return, he felt as though something was missing from his life.

He scoffed to himself. He knew exactly what was missing.

"The Forgotten Four Years", as Antoine had so poetically dubbed them, were completely gone, forever.

Try as he might, Florian could not remember a single moment from his time in London.

But he wanted to. Desperately.

Florian sighed and looked back down at the letter in his hand. It was a letter he received over ten years ago. He had discovered it amongst his belongings after he was discharged from hospital and now he carried it with him wherever he went.

_10 August 1914_

_Dear Sir,_

_We are delighted to inform you that lodgings have been acquired for you. A generous offer was recently made to us by a Miss. Josephine Mardle, who will be happy to welcome you to her home at 88 Burdon Road, W1, London, England. We have sent word to her about your situation and she expects you at any time. However we do suggest you write to her in advance so she may better prepare for your arrival.  
We at the Belgian Relief Charity wish you a pleasant journey across the Channel and pray the unpleasantness which brings you here will not last much longer. _

It ended there.

_Josephine Mardle...Josephine Mardle..._he read the name over and over again.

He remembered writing to her the moment he could, explaining his travel plans and expected day of arrival. He'd been anxious to meet her, the woman who would give him a home. He could remember parts of his voyage across the channel, but after that he could only remember the house with the smiling woman.

The smiling woman and Josephine Mardle were one and the same, of that much he was certain.

He hadn't been able to stop thinking about her since the day he awoke in the hospital.

He couldn't explain it, but every fiber of his being yearned for her. She was in his dreams, smiling that bright smile, her kind blue eyes eating away at his soul.

He shuddered.

It was silly to think of her like that.

Even from his brief memory he could tell she was much older than him. And besides...

"Florian!" Antoine's voice shouted as his footsteps pounded up the narrow staircase.

"One moment, please," he muttered, scrambling to hide the letter in the English dictionary he held.

"The parade has passed you by, my friend," Antoine announced when he entered the cramped attic, instinctually ducking to avoid the wooden ceiling planks which jutted down dangerously close to unsuspecting foreheads.

"I saw most of it from here," Florian assured him.

Antoine shook his head, "I hate seeing you in these moods. You need to get out! Meet people! Meet ladies..." he teased.

Florian shrugged, "I don't think I'm ready for that quite yet."

"Come on! It's been years..." Antoine moaned, "You're not getting any younger!"

"I'm only 34, Antoine," Florian reminded his friend, "I have plenty of life ahead of me."

Antoine sighed, "I know, I know..." he patted Florian's shoulder, "But you can't do anything with that life if you don't move on."

"I have moved on. Trust me," he stated, casually tossing the dictionary onto his bed as though to make a point and, as though to defy him, the letter slipped out onto the floor.

Glancing between Florian and the paper, Antoine raised an eyebrow, "Oh, really?" he quickly picked it off the ground and began to read the letter aloud in a horrid English accent, "Dee-ah s-ah, wee ah dee-lah-ted too in-fahm yoo th-aht wee -"

"Stop it! Stop!" Florian begged, trying to grab the letter back.

"Hmm blah blah blah," Antoine laughed as he fought off Florian, "Ah ree-sent ah-fah w-ahs made too ahs bah-ey -"

"I said stop!" Florian shouted when he finally caught hold of the letter and snatched it from his friend's hands.

Antoine stood in silence, staring at Florian as he tenderly smoothed over the crumpled paper.

"I am sorry..." he said quietly, "I had no idea it meant that much to you."

Florian sat on his bed and looked down at the letter.

"Look," Antoine muttered, taking a seat beside him, "You've been fighting this for years. Staying cooped up in this little village isn't helping, so maybe we need to make a change. New scenery and new faces might help you."

He pulled a miniature world map out of his breast pocket. Like Florian, he had his mementos.

The map was barely larger than a pocket handkerchief and the creases had rubbed holes along the equator and Atlantic Ocean. But the continents were clearly defined, as were all the major cities. To a much younger Antoine, dreaming of a world beyond the banks of the River Meuse, it was a treasure map.

"Pick any place in the world," he said, spreading the paper across their knees like a child looking over a picture book, " Anywhere you want. It may take some time to get the money but I can make it happen."

"Really?" Florian asked.

"Absolutely," Antoine insisted with a smile, "You may not remember saving my life, but I do. I can finally return the favor," he held out the map, "Now, where do you want to go?"

Florian's eyes watered as a grin crept to his face. He didn't even have to look at the map to know exactly where he needed to go.

"London."

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There you have it folks.

Please write reviews!

I'm so busy with exams and papers, but if enough of you like the story, I'll try and post new chapters soon.


	3. Chapter 3

Hello, here we meet again. It's been a little while, but I am finally off for the summer!  
Here is a new chapter for you to enjoy. It does contain some potential spoilers from the finale of Series 3.  
So if you Americans want to avoid this till the finale airs, that's all good.  
Anyway, enjoy!

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**December 1924**

"I've arranged for our luggage to be sent to the hotel ahead of us," Antoine told Florian as they walked down the train platform, "So we have the entire day to do what we like. Visit some parks, see the government buildings, whatever you want."

Florian nodded but his eyes were fixed ahead of him as he guided his friend to the taxi ramp outside the station.

"How do you know your way about so easily?" Antoine asked, surprised by the effortless way Florian hailed a car.

"I don't know..." he said and opened the taxi door, stepping aside so Antoine could enter first, "I honestly don't know."

Inside the car, Florian politely rattled off an address he knew by heart, "88 Burdon Road, please."

"Burdon Road?" Antoine asked, blinking, "I know that...How do I know that?" he voice dropped and he anxiously turned his head, but Florian did not notice.

As the car rattled along the busy London streets, Florian smiled at how grey and wet everything was. He watched ladies and gentlemen stroll along, clinging to their umbrellas and tightening their winter coats. He felt as much an outsider as it was possible to feel, but there was something else, a strange familiarity he could not describe. There were things he almost recognized, as though he'd seen them once in a dream.

The taxi took a sharp turn and sputtered to a stop when they finally arrived at the address.

"Here you are, 88 Burdon Road," the taxi driver said curtly.

Florian stared out the window, but could not bring himself to move.

"Are you going to get out or not?" Antoine nudged Florian's arm but, when he did not reply, sighed and sat back in his seat, "This was a bad idea. Driver, take us to - "

"No!" Florian interrupted, wrenching his door open and stepping out onto the street.

Antoine's shoulders slumped, but he remained in the car as Florian walked up to the gate.

It was just as he remembered. A large, brick house with many windows and a tall front door. There were rosebushes in the garden - long dead from the winter frost - and ivy growing along the large iron gate. His heart fluttered and he smiled, closing his eyes as the rain stopped and the sun peaked out from behind a cloud.

The moment was perfect, utterly perfect.

"Give me back my ball!" a child's voice shrieked.

Florian opened his eyes and saw the front door thrown open by a young boy with bright golden hair. He raced down the steps to the lawn just as a girl, perhaps two or three years his senior, chased after him.

"Earnest, give it back!" she shouted, her voice a mix of laughter and screaming.

Her bright red hair was tossed about as she ran behind the little boy. He might have been younger, but he was definitely faster.

"You can't catch me! You can't catch me!" the boy, Earnest, teased and held up the coveted ball as he dashed around the garden, trampling over the flowerbeds.

"You two, stop it now!" another girl commanded as she exited the house.

She was only fourteen or fifteen years old, but her bearing suggested she carried the responsibility of a mother.

"But Meryl!" the boy whined as he begrudgingly walked to the steps.

"You are quite too old to be squealing and carrying on like a bunch of wild animals," she explained, her hands on her hips, "And what would your aunt say if she saw the way you treat her lovely garden?"

"Can we go to the park then?" The girl asked, clasping her hands in a fervent plea.

The older one, Meryl, sighed and nodded, "Very well, but I want you back in time for tea. And make sure you don't lose your mittens again, it is terribly cold out."

"Yes!" Earnest squealed as he and the younger sister started for the fence.

It was only then they saw Florian.

The two little ones clutched hands as they crept back to Meryl, who descended the steps to join them and stared uneasily at the man beyond gate.

"Can I help you?" Meryl asked.

She smiled politely enough, but Florian could sense her suspicion.

"Forgive me," he muttered, taking off his cap, "I was just looking for someone who used to live here. Josephine Mardle?"

"That's Aunt Josie's name," Earnest half-whispered half-shouted to Meryl.

"I know that," she sternly replied under her breath before speaking to Florian directly, "Yes, we know her very well. In fact, she still lives here."

Florian's eyes lit up but Meryl took a cautious step closer to the house, "But she's not home. And won't be for some time."

His heart sank, "Oh...It's just..." he sighed looked to the ground, "Well I've come a long way," he glanced up at Meryl but then looked down again, "But forgive me, I, er...I am sorry, this must seem very strange to you."

Meryl's cold smile melted into a sympathetic one.

"You're not from around here, are you?" she asked, watching him carefully.

He shook his head, "I am from Belgium, actually."

"Oh!" she laughed in surprise, "Well that is definitely not from around here,"

Florian chuckled, then gave a sad smile, "Forgive me, miss. I shall not take up anymore of your time."

He turned from the house and began towards the taxi in defeat.

"She works with our father at Selfridge's," Meryl called out suddenly, "On Oxford Street?"

Her words brought a hope to Florian's heart, one he scarcely thought he'd feel again.

"It is not very far," she went on, "They are holding a big event today, or at least that's what she tells us. If you want to see her, she'll be there."

He looked back to her and nodded, "Thank you!" he shouted, donning his cap and hurrying to the taxi, "Thank you very much!"

He opened the car door and beamed over at Antoine, "We have to go to Oxford Street."

"Why?" Antoine moaned as Florian climbed inside, "I don't understand why we're racing all over London. Why can't we just go to the hotel?"

Florian glanced out the window, smiling brighter than he had in a long time. The children waved goodbye as the taxi drove on towards the main road.

"What are you trying to find?" Antoine asked, concerned by his friend's cheerful silence, "It doesn't make any sense. Why won't you tell me?"

Florian reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the letter. He unfolded the single page, running his fingers over the name he'd grown to treasure.

_Josephine Mardle_

Antoine eyes scanned over the letter over Florian's shoulder, his eyes widening, "No...oh god...is this why we've come to England?" Antoine gripped his arm, "Listen to me, you can't do this."

"I have to," Florian stated desperately as he pulled his arm away.

The taxi rambled on through the wet streets, every second bringing them closer to Oxford Street.

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Thank you for reading! There will be many more chapters so keep an eye out.  
Also, please review if you wish! I adore hearing from you all!


	4. Chapter 4

Happy June! I hope the summer had treated you all very well so far!  
My summer is going to be crazy busy so I do not know if the next chapters will be up as quickly as I would like, but please keep a look out!  
Anyway, here's a new chapter to brighten your spirits!

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**December 1924**

The store was exceedingly busy that Tuesday morning but nothing could have been better.

Roger Grove watched from the mezzanine as customers eagerly scurried about the shop floor, speaking with employees and purchasing the newest merchandise. The winter promotion would be quite profitable this year, if Mr. Crabb's calculations were correct.

"It's splendid, isn't it?"

He felt a hand on his arm and he turned to Josie Mardle.

Her eyes sparkled as she joined him to look over the crowds. Her bright smile caught Roger off guard and he took a moment to admire it.

"Yes. It is quite splendid," Roger replied, taking her hand.

Yes, by all accounts, everything was splendid, and not just with the store.

Roger had learned so much from Josie in the past five years and he honestly felt as though he was a changed man. There was an understanding between them that had not existed before and he had grown to cherish every moment he spent with her.

It felt a bit strange, of course, that he and the children lived in her house as mere tenants. But it would not remain that way for long.

"We really ought to set a date, you know," he whispered and ran a finger over the small diamond ring she wore.

"I know, I know..." she blushed and shook her head, "I just need more time to get used to it," she clasped his hand in contentment.

"Take all the time you need, my darling," he brought an arm around her, "But don't keep us waiting much longer. I can hardly go another day without you as my wife."

Josie playfully lifted her brow and would have said something smart in reply had Connie Towler not approached them from the lift.

"Oh, excuse me, pardon me, Miss. Mardle, Mr. Grove," Connie blurted when she recognized the intimacy of the moment she was interrupting.

She blushed in embarrassment but Josie and Roger were unfazed. They'd been through this before, an office romance, but now there was no secrecy. It was open and honest, absolutely above reproach.

"What is it Mrs. Towler?" Josie asked calmly though it was clear Connie was suppressing giggles.

"We've just had a whole bunch of ladies arrive upstairs and we could really use your expertise," she gave a grimaced sort of smile, "They keep asking about fringe."

Josie let out an exasperated sigh, "I can't leave my department for a moment, can I?" she grinned and gave a look to Roger before quickly hurrying after Connie.

He watched Josie walk away, admiring her figure in the new dress she wore, but she turned and caught him staring. He winked mischievously when she blushed and she rolled her eyes at him as the lift doors shut.

Roger chuckled and straightened his suit jacket. He had a skip in his step as he began down the stairs.

The store as thriving, his children were healthy, and the woman he loved was perfect. Nothing could possibly ruin his happiness.

"Oh, Mr. Grove!"

Roger had just stepped onto the shop floor when he was met by George Towler.

The young man smiled, "There's a gentleman asking for Miss. Mardle. Perhaps you'd like to talk with him while I fetch her?"

Roger nodded, "Of course, of course. Where is he?"

"I told him to wait in Accessories," George explained then shrugged, "He's a weird sort, foreign, but he's not dangerous I don't think."

Roger smiled and patted George on the back as he continued on.

Once near the department mentioned, he gave a polite nod to Grace Calthorpe, who stood behind the main accessories counter as she battled a hoard of customers anxious to get their hands on the latest items from Paris.

Seeing the impassible swarm of people, Roger diverted his course. He was just rounding a corner when he bumped into someone strolling in the opposite direction.

"Oh, do excuse me," Roger muttered, holding the man's arm to steady him.

"Thank you, sir," the stranger replied, a foreign accent shining through even in the short phrase.

Roger looked to the man to further express his apology, but he froze.

He knew those brown eyes, that placid expression. The ground shifted beneath him and he felt as though the world were caving in. Time seemed to stop.

"Florian?" he whispered, his voice lost in shock.

The man's eyes brightened, "Y-you know me?"

Roger only stared, the blood draining from his face.

Florian smiled, oblivious to the panic racing through Roger's heart, "Then you must know where I can find Miss. Mardle. I've been searching all day for her but..."

Florian continued to speak, but Roger did not hear. His ears rung in pain and even his vision turned blurry. He gripped onto Florian's arm and felt the flesh and bone beneath the tweed coat.

"You..." Roger spoke, "This isn't possible..."

"Florian!" another man's voice broke through the mild roar of the crowd.

The man walked to them and grabbed Florian's shoulder, forcing him away. He spoke in French, but Roger knew enough of the language to follow their exchange.

"We are leaving now!" the man said in a hushed, angry tone , "This was not a good idea. You should never have come here."

"But Antoine, this man knows me! He knows where I can find her," Florian tried to explain to his friend.

Antoine's eyes darkened as he stared at Florian, "No, no you cannot do this. We have to go," he turned to Roger and shifted to English, "Please, excuse us, sir."

Antoine tightened his grip on Florian and pushed their way to the nearest exit.

Roger followed them, enraged, mortified, and confused. His heart was beating like a drum and he felt his knees weaken as he staggered after them.

By this time, the quarrelling had drawn the attention of several customers and staff, who watched the scene with concern. Security guards stepped forward to assist Roger, but he moved passed them.

"But this isn't possible..." Roger blurted to Antoine and pointed a shaking hand at Florian, "He's not possible!"

Antoine turned over his shoulder, "Forget all of this. You never saw him, do you understand?"

He then pushed Florian out onto the street and, within moments, the shop floor returned to normal.

Roger stood in astonishment for what felt like an eternity. He could hardly breathe and a cold sweat dampened his skin. The ringing in his head returned and it was as if he were underwater.

He heard footsteps draw nearer to him and felt a loving hand rest on his back.

"My dear, whatever is the matter?" Josie's kind and innocent voice called to him through the fog of his shock, "What happened? Are you alright?"

He blinked and looked into her curious blue eyes, but he only shook his head.

"You look very unwell," she said, putting a hand on his cheek, "You're shaking like a leaf. I'll take you home, you should rest."

He wanted to protest, but Josie's calming touch persuaded him to agree.

They had no trouble getting permission from Mr. Selfridge and within a quarter of an hour, they were walking arm-in-arm towards home.

Josie did not pressure him to tell her the true story of the ruckus on the shop floor, and Roger was thankful. But as they climbed the front steps to their home, he felt weaker and more unsure than ever.

The door was opened by Meryl, who smiled warmly in surprise, "I did not know you were coming home for tea!" her cheeriness faded when she recognized her father's troubled state and she took his arm as he entered the house, "Come, Papa, you should lay down."

Josie and Meryl had just helped him down onto the sitting room chaise when Earnest climbed up on his knee.

"You'll never guess what happened today, Papa!" he said excitedly.

"Earnest, darling, let your father rest," Josie urged as she went to take off her coat and hat.

Roger smiled weakly and ruffled the boy's blond hair, "No, go on, I want to know everything."

Earnest leaned forward with a mischievous grin, "Meryl talked to a stranger today."

"You did _what_?" Josie asked, stepping back into the room to gape angrily at Meryl, who was beginning to lay out the tea things.

"It was nothing like that!" she tried to explain herself but Josie gave her a stern look, "He was perfectly respectable! And if you must know..." she returned Josie's look with a teasing one, "He was asking about _you_."

Roger's heart stopped and he glanced at Josie.

She wrinkled her brow, "Really?"

The girl nodded, "He seemed very upset when I told him you were not at home, so I said he could go to the store."

"Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water..." Earnest mumbled the nursery rhyme aloud as he moved from Roger's knee and began to play with a pair of toy soldiers on the window sill.

Through the little song, the clinking of silverware and tea cups, and the pounding in his own head, Roger could hardly think.

"Oh..." Josie calmly muttered, "Well, did he leave his name?"

"Jack fell down and broke his crown..." Earnest's song continued, as did the dizziness in Roger's head.

"No, he didn't," Meryl replied, " I should have asked."

_This isn't possible...It can't be possible... _Roger told himself, again and again.

Meryl sighed dreamily, "But he was terribly handsome. And foreign," the girl went on, jittery as any gossiping school girl.

"And Jill came tumbling after-"

"I think he said he was from Bel- "

"Meryl, please, take your brother and go upstairs!" Roger snapped and opened his eyes, "My headache is getting worse and I do not need this mindless chatter and noise."

The girl obeyed without question and took Earnest by the hand as she left the room.

Josie stared coldly at Roger for a moment. She did not have to speak for Roger to know her thoughts.

"I am fine," he insisted, breathing deeply, "Perfectly fine."

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I hope you enjoyed that little encounter...mwahahaaa  
As I said, I will be incredibly busy, but if there are enough reviews I may be able to squeeze in an update some time soon.  
I love you all! 


	5. Chapter 5

Hello lovelies!  
I am soooooo sorry this took so long for me to update!  
I've been busy with work and an internship, but anyway, here is another splendid chapter for you to enjoy!  
And please review if you wish, I love hearing your thoughts!

* * *

**December 1924**

He'd tried to focus on his work all morning, but he could not. His mind was racing with anxiety.

He stared up at the office ceiling and felt his heart pound along with the clock as it chimed eleven.

Florian Dupont was dead. He'd been dead for five years.

Roger remembered receiving the news in a letter from Doris, shortly after the war ended.

_I was having tea with Miss. Mardle yesterday when a letter arrived from Belgium. She was so distraught after reading it. I felt so sorry for her but I did not know what I could do to help her, so I just left. I asked Miss. Towler about it today when I visited the store and she said it was about the violinist who used to live with them. He passed away in a military hospital just hours after the treaty was signed. It really is tragic, but Miss. Mardle took it extremely badly. Her reaction was so emotional that I cannot help but wonder - I know you say I must not gossip about good friends, but I think she may have loved him a little. _

Roger glanced at the picture of Josie that stood in a small golden frame on his desk. She smiled faintly and her eyes shown beautifully even in the foggy black-and-white.

_I think she may have loved him a little..._

Roger shook his head, trying to force the words out of his mind. But it was impossible.

He knew better than anyone how much Josie truly loved Florian. He'd seen firsthand how their relationship grew from unspoken infatuation to devoted adoration and love. In fact, Roger realized, his own role in the drama may very easily have played catalyst to the romance.

Whatever the case may be, Florian and Josie loved each other and would have lived happily ever after if the young man had not died.

And Florian hadn't died. He was alive and in London that very moment.

A knock came at his office door and Roger straightened in his chair.

"Come," he said as he grabbed the nearest staff report and tried to appear busy.

The door opened and, much to his surprised, Miss. Plunkett poked her head in.

"Excuse me, Mr. Grove," she gave a polite smile, "But there's a gentleman to see you. Well, that is to say, he's here to see 'the important looking red-haired man'," she chuckled but quickly resumed her professionalism, "I told him you were busy, but he's insisting."

"Yes, thank you, Miss. Plunkett, let him in," he said with a nod, only to stand to his feet and freeze in confused terror when the gentleman entered.

It was the man who'd been with Florian on the shop floor the previous afternoon.

Miss. Plunkett glanced between the two men before hurrying from the room and shutting the door.

"What are you doing here?" Roger asked abruptly.

"I feel you are owed an explanation," the man said, stepping forward, "You seemed very shocked yesterday."

Roger scoffed, "That is an understatement."

The man remained strong even as Roger glared at him.

"Please, sir, my name is Antoine Renard," he stated in practically perfect English, "I am a friend of Florian Dupont."

"Yes, well," Roger sighed and shook his head, aghast, "You'd better explain what's going on because right now I have half a mind to call security."

Antoine held his hands up defensively, "Sir, I know what you must be feeling - "

"No, you really don't," he stated coldly but then took a breath, "Forgive me, please continue."

Antoine slowly took a seat in front of Roger and began his tale.

"Florian and I grew up together as children. We were like brothers. But we parted ways when he moved to join an orchestra in the city. I never heard from him again. When our home was destroyed, I joined the Belgian army as quickly as I could. I believed Florian had been killed in the attack, but we were reunited when he was placed in my unit in the summer of 1917. We fought beside each other for a year. Then, one day in November of 1918, our unit was targeted and Florian saved me from enemy fire. He nearly lost his life. He was unconscious for days before the war finally ended."

Roger interrupted harshly, "If Florian was only unconscious, why did the army write a letter saying he was dead?"

Antoine hung his head as he continued, "After he awoke, Florian could not remember anything from the war. It was as if those four years of his life had vanished from his memory. He did not remember joining the army, or fighting, or anything."

Roger slowly sat down, "And Josie?" he caught a sort of question in Antoine's eyes and shook his head, "Sorry, I'm sure you have no idea who I am talking about."

Antoine smiled, "I know about Josie. Florian spoke of her often. At first he did not say they were lovers, but I found out soon enough. I know Florian too well," his smiled faded, "But no...he did not..._does_ not remember her."

Roger leaned forward in his chair, "But you still haven't answered my question: why did the army send Josie that letter?"

Antoine turned his head to avoid Roger's eye, "The army did not send the letter," he took a deep breath, " I did. Florian needed to recover in Belgium, so I had to make Josie believe he had died," Antoine shrugged ashamedly, "I explained the Belgian army did not have her address on file and would not know to send her an official telegram, which is truly what would have happened. I sent her his identification tag...and..." he paused as his voice choked with regret, "And a certificate of death...and some of the letters she'd sent him. I wanted to make it more real."

"But why?" Roger asked, growing furious, "I have been Josie's friend all these years and I know what she's had to endure. She grieved for him nearly ten months before she could bring herself to step out in public!" He stood and pointed a heartless finger at Antoine, "Her suffering is all down to you!"

"Can you imagine what it would have been like?" Antoine turned to look up at him, impassioned by Roger's harsh words, "If Florian had returned to England, to Josie, he would not have remembered loving her. She would have been a stranger to him," Antoine shook his head, "Look at me and tell me that would have been any easier for her."

Roger exhaled slowly and clenched his jaw. As much as he wanted to argue, he knew Antoine was right.

"How did he figure out about her after all this time? How much does he know?" Roger asked calmly.

Antoine shrugged, "He always knew he had stayed here for a time. That is the last memory he has: walking up to a brick house in London."

Roger closed his eyes briefly, "Josie's house..." he muttered.

Antoine nodded, "But he does not remember her as his lover. He only has a letter, from when he first came here as a refugee. He carries it with him everywhere. It was from a charity, giving her name and address," he looked down at his lap, "That was why he wanted to come to England, to find her and learn about his past. He first admitted his plan to me when we arrived here in the shop yesterday," he looked at Roger, "You have to believe me, if I could have stopped his coming here, I would have."

"I do believe you, Mr. Renard," Roger assured him, "I see now that your actions in this ordeal were well-intentioned," he gazed sharply at Antoine, "I only hope you understand how detrimental his presence is. If they were to meet again, after all these years, it would ruin Josie's present happiness."

Antoine lifted a brow, "And yours, I assume."

Roger blinked in surprise but then cleared his throat as he walked to the office door, "Yes, I suppose you might as well know...she and I are engaged."

"Ah...I see," Antoine grinned and stood to his feet, extending his hand in congratulation, but Roger took a tight hold of his arm.

"Please..." Roger begged, "They cannot meet. Do you understand me? They must _never_ meet. "

Antoine nodded vigorously, "I have arranged for us to leave the country tomorrow evening. You will never see us again."

Roger's heart skipped a beat in panic, "And where is Mr. Dupont now?"

"Do not worry," Antoine said and pulled his arm away, "He is at our hotel. I made him promise to stay in our rooms," he smiled when he saw the look of worry in Roger's eye, "Do not be anxious," Antoine told him as he walked out the door and began down the corridor, "If there is one thing I know about my friend, he never breaks a promise."

Roger watched him leave, confident in their plan. But when he returned to his desk and saw Josie smiling at him from the little gold frame, a crippling guilt ate away at his heart.

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Oh dear, Roger, what have you done?  
Hahaha, I hope you enjoyed it! The next chapters will be up soon.  
Please review! :)


	6. Chapter 6

Hi guys! I am so sorry these updates are taking so long! But I promise this one's worth it.  
Enjoy! And please PLEASE_ PLEASE **PLEASE**_ leave a comment!

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**Later that same day**

The clock struck nine as Josie walked into the sitting room.

"They're asleep, finally" she said with a sigh.

But Roger did not hear. He leaned back in the crook of the chaise and stared out to the front garden, deep in thought. His head was swirling with fear and doubt, and he did not notice when Josie sat beside him.

"Roger..." she muttered, putting a hand on his knee, "Are you alright?"

He shuddered and looked to her, "Oh, sorry, what did you say?"

Her bright eyes searched his, "You were silent all through dinner," she said slowly, "You hardly touched your food and you didn't say good night to the children."

He turned away, unable to look her in the eye.

"I'm worried about you, Roger," she admitted uncertainly, "Has something happened?"

He shook his head, "Of course not," he wrapped an arm around her and held her close to him, "I've just had a lot on my mind. Forgive me."

She sighed, then rested her head on his shoulder, "You can tell me anything," she glanced up at him, "You know that, right?"

He nodded but remained silent. As she nestled closer to him, he felt shame crawl into the back of his heart. Here was Josie: contented, happy, and blissfully unaware that Florian Dupont was only a few city blocks away.

"Josie..." Roger began, holding her tightly, "I love you."

She smiled, "I know you do - "

"No, you don't understand," he interrupted sharply, turning to face her, "I have always loved you, in my own way, but never the way you deserved to be loved. I was blinded by my folly and pride, for so many years. And though I have changed, I want you to know that I...that is, I know it will never truly be possible but..." Josie gazed at him in confusion and wonder as he brought a hand to her cheek, "I want to be worthy of you."

"Roger - "

He took her hand, his guiltiness fading, "Whatever pain we have experienced in the past is over, I promise you that. No matter what happens, I swear I will do anything to make you happy."

Josie tilted her head, her eyes full of sympathy and love, and she started to speak, but she was interrupted by a sound which sent chills through Roger's body.

The friendly knocking at the front door echoed through the house and brought a puzzled grin to Josie's face, but it made Roger's blood turn cold with fear.

"I'll get it," Josie murmured as she began to leave the room, but Roger stood and grabbed her arm.

"Don't!" he practically begged, "Please..." his tight hold on her arm loosened as she stared at him in shock, "Please, stay here."

She opened her mouth to speak, but Roger's pleading eyes silenced her. She sat back on the chaise as he continued into the foyer.

Roger could see a familiar figure through the door's window and his heart stopped. This was the moment he'd dreaded, but he stood tall as he opened the door.

"Oh..." Florian Dupont wrinkled his brow when he saw Roger, "I did not realize you lived here-"

Roger cleared his throat, "Please leave."

Florian shook his head, "Sir, I just wanted to talk to - "

"I beg of you," Roger pleaded, lowering his voice, "Please, you don't understand she - "

"My dear, what is going on?" Josie's voice called from the sitting room and Roger heard her step across into the foyer, "Who is..."

Roger turned just in time to see Josie freeze in the middle of the foyer, her eyes widening as she looked past him.

She blinked once, and then again. She looked to Roger, her eyes resting for a moment on his familiar face, but when she looked once more at the silhouetted figure in the doorway, her face paled.

"Fl...Flor..." she could hardly speak and Roger could tell she was losing her breath.

Roger watched in silent horror as Florian stepped forward into the light.

He gazed at Josie and smiled, "Miss. Mardle?"

Josie's entire body weakened almost immediately. Her knees gave way and she would have completely collapsed if Roger had not caught her just in time.

"Josie? Josie!" Roger cried out as he eased her to the ground, "Josie, wake up! Josie?"

He tried rousing her, but she had completely lost consciousness.

"What can I do?" Florian asked in a panic as he rushed towards them.

Roger glared up at him, but saw the sincere worry in Florian's eyes and relented.

"Here," Roger lifted Josie's back as he gave instructions, "Take her upper-half and help me get her into the sitting room.".

However, Florian quickly brushed him aside and took complete control, tucking one arm beneath Josie's back and the other under her knees. Roger felt a possessive jealousy, but said nothing when the younger, stronger man lifted Josie as though she weighed no more than a feather.

"In here," Roger hurried into the sitting room.

He stood back, anxiously watching as Florian lowered Josie onto the chaise. The young man set her down gently, moving his arm from beneath her legs to adjust the cushion under her head. Florian paused for a moment, staring down at Josie with a look Roger recognized instantly.

Roger held his breath as Florian blinked once, and then again. But the young man shook his head, disregarding whatever thought had passed through his mind, and then stood, moving to the far side of the room as Roger knelt beside the chaise and took Josie's hand.

"Oh my dear Josie..." he whispered while he smoothed a curl of hair out of her face, "Please, forgive me...Please, God, forgive me..."

An uncomfortable silence fell over the room as Roger felt Florian's eyes on him.

"Thank you," he said quietly, glancing across at Florian.

He shook his head, "There is no need for thanks. I am happy to help."

Roger nodded, "Yes, well, be that as it may, I thank you."

Florian gave him a weak smile.

Roger cleared his throat, "I must care for her here, so you understand if I ask you to show yourself out - "

"Will she...will _Josie_ be alright?" Florian asked, removing his cap awkwardly as he stepped forward.

Roger tried to suppress the fear boiling in his blood, "She will be - if you leave here now."

Florian shook his head in frustration, "No, I have come all this way. I just want the truth about - "

"The truth?" Roger snapped, "The truth is that you're dead!" he stood and forced Florian to stagger back, "You've been dead for five years! She's moved on," Roger's eyes were ablaze with fury as he clutched Florian's collar and shouted tearfully in his face, "She has a new life, a new future, and she doesn't need you anymore!" his heart heaved with guilt and he could hardly breathe, "Why did you have to come here and ruin everything? Why couldn't you just stay dead?"

"W-what are you talking about?" Florian muttered, clearly frightened for his life and confused beyond words, "I do not understand, please, I - "

Roger's shoulders slumped as he let go of Florian, "Ask your friend. He knows more than I do," he looked back towards Josie and lowered his voice, "All I know or care about is her."

Florian's fearful eyes followed Roger's gaze, resting on Josie, "You love her?"

Roger closed his eyes, "More than anything..." he opened them again and glared at Florian, "Now would you please leave."

"But I - "

"The past is dead and buried, Mr. Dupont," Roger stated, walking out of the sitting room, "It's best to keep it that way. For all our sakes."

He pulled the front door open and gestured for Florian to go. But Florian continued to stare at Josie.

"Mr. Dupont..." Roger's voice was terrifyingly quiet, "I beg of you. Leave now."

Florian finally pulled his gaze away and gave an apologetic look to Roger before darting through the front door and out to the street.

Roger slammed the door shut with all his might.

It was some time after Florian left the house before Josie awoke.

Roger was sitting in the armchair, his guilt bearing down on him like an anchor, when her eyes fluttered open.

He quickly knelt to her side and took her hand, "Josie, darling, are you alright? Tell me you are alright..."

Her eyes were glazed over but she sat up.

"He was here...I saw him..." she mumbled, shaking her head in dazed confusion and shock, "It was Florian...he was here..." her desperate words turned into frantic mutterings as her eyes darted about, desperately searching, "Roger, he was here...It was him, I know it was..."

"It was a delivery boy..." he whispered, instantly feeling a pain in his chest as he remembered a similar excuse from years previous.

"But it was him...I..." she closed her eyes, trying to remember, "I saw him...he was right here, I..."

Roger took her face in his hands, "Listen to me, it was a delivery boy..." her eyes opened as he reiterated the lie, "Josie, my dear, it was only a delivery boy..."

Her eyes moistened and she blinked, "It was...wasn't it?" her breathing quickened though she tried to keep calm, "A delivery boy? Oh God..." she held a hand to her mouth as she burst into sobs, "I really thought...I..."

She could hardly speak through her tears and her body shook from crying.

Roger wrapped an arm around her and let her lean into his chest. His heart ached and his tortured soul wanted to speak the truth, but he did not, he could not.

"There, there, now. It is alright. It will all be alright," he said, holding her as though his life depended on it.

_Please, God, let it be alright..._he prayed.

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Stay tuned! More to come! PLEASE COMMENT!  
Love ya!


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello lovelies! I am soooooo sorry that this chapter is so late. My school year has been off to a busy start and it's difficult to find time to edit and tweek. But I've managed to finish this chapter and I hope you enjoy it! It is a bit shorter than the others but I am pretty proud of it. I mean, as proud as I can be coming out of a month-long writer's block frenzy. But anyway, enough of me jabbering on about nonsense. Read!**

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His mind was a blur as he walked through the streets. He did not understand what was happening.

He blinked when the rain began to fall in a gentle mist. People around him opened umbrellas or scurried under shop-window canopies, but he walked on.

_The truth is you're dead!_

The man's declaration stung Florian deeply. Nothing made sense.

The street lamps created little halos of light through the soft rain. It was beautiful, but he did not care.

All he could think about was _her._ He'd felt something when he held her, a familiar something he could not describe. It was joy and agony all at once, a consuming need to stay beside her.

If only he could have stayed. If only -

_Why couldn't you stay dead?_

Florian shook his head as he darted up to the hotel entrance. He was in a daze while he ascended the once-grand staircase and walked the short distance to his room.

He fumbled with the rusted lock and entered, gently shutting the door behind him.

The door to the adjacent room opened and Antoine stormed inside, exhaling in relief.

"I've been looking for you everywhere!" he stated exasperatedly, "Where have you been?"

Florian sighed, removing his coat solemnly, "Where do you think."

Antoine closed his eyes, "Don't...please don't tell me you went back to her house - "

"Of course I went back!" Florian raised his voice but then lowered his head and continued in a whisper, "I had to."

"Had to?" Antoine asked, raising a brow.

"Yes..." Florian replied softly and slowly sat in the chair by the window.

Antoine took a deep breath as he watched his friend, "What happened?"

"That man from the store was there," he began, "He would not let me talk to her - "

"Really?" Antoine tried to appear surprised, "What did he - "

"He said I was dead," Florian turned his head sharply, wanting to see his friend's face, "He said I'd been dead for years and that you knew about it."

Antoine's curiosity had faded by this time and his eyes were fearful.

"Tell me it isn't true," Florian shook his head, "Tell me you had nothing to do with this."

"Please, hear me out," Antoine stepped forward, wanting to explain it all away, "You had forgotten everything. I did what I had to do."

"And what exactly was that? Kill me?" Florian asked sternly, "Not only that, you concealed it from me. And you have obviously worked with this man to prevent me from learning the truth, from seeing her - Why?"

"Please understand, I did not know what else I could do," Antoine swallowed hard, knowing his words meant nothing to his friend, "I only wanted what was best for you."

Florian stood, rage boiling in his blood. A murderous anger rose from his heart, though he did not know why.

Florian's voice was coarse with pain, he could hardly breathe, "Whatever your motivation, you have stolen a part of my life that I can never get back."

Antoine's shoulder's sagged, "Florian, You could not remember anything," he reiterated, "And the doctor...the doctor said - "

"I remember what he said!" Florian snapped, "I also remember what you said that day - the day I woke. And every day since - You will never let me forget it."

"Forget what?" Antoine's brow furrowed.

"That I saved your life," he replied harshly.

Antoine was silent.

"I saved your life yet you_ destroyed_ mine," he spat out, shaking his head in disgust, "By lying, going behind my back, playing God...How could you do it? You who know what torment I have lived in these five years!" Florian exclaimed, frustration and sadness causing his body to shake, "Why you...you know more about my life than I do!"

His eyes began to water and an overwhelming wretchedness filled his heart.

"I _knew_ her, Antoine...I..." he lifted a hand to his cheek, wiping the tears away, "I do not understand. I do not know why I'm reacting this way," he muttered, leaning on the chair for support, "Why should I cry over a woman I hardly remember?"

Antoine closed his eyes, willing himself to speak, "Because you _do_ remember."

"No I don't," Florian slumped into the chair and leaned forward with his head in his hands, "I don't...I..."

"You might not think you do," Antoine went on gently, "But the heart does not easily forget."

Florian looked up, his misery quickly replaced with confusion.

Antoine sighed, "You were lovers."

Florian's teary eyes widened.

Antoine smiled at Florian's mystified expression and shrugged, "Or that's what you told me, anyway."

"_I _told you?" Florian asked in astonishment.

"In the trenches," Antoine explained casually, "You talked about her a lot. In fact, she was practically the only person you _ever_ talked about. Well, besides your family, obviously, but even then...I mean, you had the other men thinking she was your legitimate wife."

Florian looked down, his brow furrowed, "But she...she is so much - "

"So much older than you?" Antoine asked, "It was an odd romance, I will not lie," he let out a soft chuckled, "I remember you saying that she was not old enough to be your mother, so there was nothing wrong with it," he looked to Florian and smiled, "But even if she was, I know you would not have cared. You were very much in love."

"Love..." Florian stared into nothing, "I really loved her?"

Antoine nodded.

Florian's heart warmed in his chest. Of course he loved her. Nothing else made sense. Why else would he dream about her every night and want to hold her in his arms the moment he saw her?

Florian was silent as Antoine walked to a side-table and poured a glass of water.

"Do you remember anything now?" Antoine asked, handing over the cup.

Florian shook his head as he took a sip."No...nothing."

Antoine shrugged, "It is probably just as well. She is engaged now."

"Engaged?" Florian asked, his heart sparking with jealousy though he did not recognize the feeling as such, "To be married?"

"Yes..." Antoine nodded, watching Florian carefully, "To Mr. Grove. The man you met."

Florian's heart sank but he said nothing.

A moment passed before Antoine spoke.

"Forgive me, Florian," he muttered, "For everything I have done. Please, forgive me."

"Forgive you?" shaking his head, Florian turned and looked to his friend, "I wish I could say yes, but it is not possible. Not now."

Antoine nodded and began towards his room.

"I know I should hardly be asking this of you," Antoine said, glancing over his shoulder, "But I must beg you to return with me to Belgium," Florian scoffed under his breath, but Antoine continued, "You can despise me, you can hate me, but you must think of Josie now."

Florian sighed and then nodded, "Of course. I may not remember loving her but I would never dream of causing her additional heartache," he wrinkled his brow, doubt clogging his mind, "And yet I do not think I could live with myself if I were to leave - without seeing her again, without letting her know the truth..." he looked down into his glass.

Antoine shrugged, "It is your choice, my friend. But I believe that if you care for her, _really_ care..." he took a deep breath, "...then you would leave this place and never come back."

Florian closed his eyes and made no reply.

He heard Antoine's door shut and the room fill with silence once more.

He opened his eyes and gazed out to the street below, his head swimming with thoughts of _her_.

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**Oh no! What will he choose? Will he leave and never see Josie again? Or will he stay and ruin everything for Roger?**

**Find out soon...ish **

**Please leave comments! I love them dearly**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hello darlings!  
I hope your Halloweens were awesome! I know mine was.  
I've been bogged down with papers and tests, but the next few chapters should be up sooner than later, I promise!  
Anyway, enjoy this new chapter! And please please PLEASE review!**

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_Later that evening_

It was almost midnight before Josie was calm enough to lean on Roger's arm and leave the comfort of the sitting room. She was achingly silent as they climbed the stairs, and it seemed as though she would collapse at any moment.

"Come now," he said when they reached the landing in front of her room, "Let's get you to bed. You must rest."

He rubbed Josie's arm in comfort but she turned and stepped away from him, wincing as though she'd been burnt. She wearily rested a hand on the wall for support. Though he could not see her eyes, Roger knew she was crying.

"What can I do?" he asked, wishing her hurting would end, "Darling, let me help, please."

Josie shook her head and tried to steady her breathing, "I...I'm sorry. I just...I need to be alone."

He stepped towards her, "Josie - "

Without another word, she hurried into her bedroom and closed the door.

He heard the lock turn and his heart broke.

He waited a moment, praying she might change her mind, but he knew it was impossible.

He took a deep breath, his eyes watering, and walked over into the guest bedroom.

He sat on the edge of the bed and looked out to the hall at Josie's door. He heard Josie crying, and though he fought to block it out of his mind, he could not.

He stood and closed the door, then returned to the bed and laid down.

Although he was exhausted, he could not bring himself to sleep. With everything he'd done, he could not rest soundly. He hated how much Josie was hurting, but he knew it was for the best.

Or was it?

He did not know anymore.

He closed his eyes, wishing the clock in the hall could tick louder and drown out his guilty thoughts.

As though to answer his wish, the chimes rang out the hour. One. Two.

Two? Was it really two in the morning? Had he dozed off?

Roger shook his head and stared up at the ceiling, but a noise from the hall caught his attention and forced him to sit up.

He listened carefully, recognizing Josie's footsteps as they passed his door and began down the hallway towards the children's rooms.

Without a second thought, Roger left the guest room, pausing for a moment on the landing to glance at Josie's door, still partially opened, before turning down the hallway.

"Josie?" he called out quietly, but there came no reply.

It was terribly dark, but there was a faint light from within a room he'd never dared to enter before.

"Darling?" he whispered, opening the door gently and peeking inside.

Again, there was only silence. But he saw Josie standing on the far side of the room, staring out the window. She wore only her white nightdress and sheer dressing gown. The moonlight fell on her grief-stricken face and unpinned hair, giving her a look of other-worldly melancholy.

Roger took a careful step inside, not wanting to startle her, but the floor boards creaked and Josie looked up. Her face turned pale in fright, then softened when she recognized Roger through the darkness.

"I..." she blinked a few times as her voice failed her, "Forgive me, I thought..." she closed her eyes and pressed a hand to her stomach.

"Oh, my dear," Roger moved towards her, to comfort her, but she turned away.

"Don't, please," she folded her arms, closing in on herself as though she wanted to disappear.

Roger nodded and backed away, respecting her wish but hating how she seemed to doubt him.

He looked around, his gaze falling on the desk in the corner of the room. It was littered with sheet music and letters, some in French and some in English, and it was simply covered in dust. The entire room was. He turned and spotted a tweed coat hanging on the hook by the door and a pair of men's shoes beneath the bed. All these things sent shivers up Roger's spine, but when he saw the violin case laying on the bed, his stomach churned.

"This is his room, isn't it?" he asked, glancing at Josie, "Florian's?"

She nodded, "I haven't been in here since..."

She started to choke up and Roger cautiously stepped towards her.

"You don't have to talk about it - about him - if you don't want to," he said, but she shook her head.

"I want to," she insisted firmly, "We never have spoken about him, have we? You and I?" she looked up to Roger, a curious, almost hurt look in her eye, "In all these years, you've never asked about him. Why?"

"Well," Roger began warily, wanting the drop the subject as quickly as possible, "It would be strange, I think, to talk about past lovers when we are so happy together now."

Josie sighed, "I see..."

The tears returned to her eyes and Roger felt it keenly. He wanted to help her, but he was walking on very thin ice and he simply could not risk discussing the death of a man he knew was alive and well.

"It was a long time ago, darling," he said, putting an arm around her shoulder, "Surely five years is enough for you to forget him."

As he heard the words fall from his mouth, Roger realized how heartless they sounded and he froze as Josie pulled away from him in resentment.

"How can you say that?" her gaze turned to him, slowly, with an angered sadness he'd seen countless times before.

"That is not what I meant, forgive me," he begged, repentant and fearful, " I only meant...I thought you, well...that you'd moved on. From him."

She glared at him again but he continued.

"That is, I thought you had moved on from the hurting," he explained calmly, "I thought, after all this time, you did not think of him with sadness."

Josie paused, her eyes glazing over as she considered what he said.

"You are right," she said after a while, "I have been happy...I do not mourn like I used to...But sometimes..." she inhaled sharply and looked away, "Sometimes it seems as though he died yesterday. I feel everything all over again and I can't think straight, I..."

"Josie - "

"I feel I've abandoned him," she went on, moving to the bed, "Sometimes I almost forget what he looked like. Can you believe that?"

Her teary eyes closed as she sat on the edge of the bed.

"I loved him..." she whispered, "And I wish had told him so."

"Darling, I am sure he knew," he interrupted, but Josie went on.

"He asked me to marry him, Roger," she whispered and stared ahead into nothing.

Roger's heart stopped and his eyes widened, "What?"

"He wanted to marry before he left to fight, but I never gave him a straight answer," Josie explained softly, but her voice cracked and Roger could see she was crying again, "I know it was foolish but I really thought...I thought it might give him a reason to live..." her speech rambled on as she fought to hold back her sobs, "He was upset, but he promised me...He promised he would come back, he swore it, he...he swore he would not leave me like that. And I...I believed him. I waited, month after month, knowing in my heart that he would be fine, that we would be together at the end of it all, but then..." she shook her head, "God, how could I have been so stupid? To think a promise could mean something in a war?" her tears slowly returned as she spoke, an angered self-awareness sinking in, "Hope is one thing, but that...that was mindless optimism. Childish and irresponsible and..."

She looked to Roger and her breathing hitched.

"Forgive me," she stood and quickly wiped her tears away, "I hate for you to see me like this. You are right, it is foolish to talk of such things. I am fine..." she wrapped her dressing gown tighter around her waist as she moved past him, "Or at least I will be in the morning," she slowly opened the door but then stopped and turned back, "I love you, my dear. And I am happy. Truly, I am," she said quietly, a warm sincerity in her eyes, "You and the children have brought so much to my life, but I..." she paused and looked away, "I cannot...I _will not_ forget him. So I beg you," she pleaded, her teary eyes meeting his, "Never ask it of me again."

She turned and quietly left the room.

Her footsteps echoed in the hall, and every regret Roger had ever felt suddenly overcame him. His legs buckled and he stumbled backwards to sit in the desk chair so as not to fall to his knees.

_What have I done?_

Once his decisions had felt honorable and selfless. But now...

_Good God, what have I done?_

He looked around the room, feeling as though he were trespassing on sacred ground. His head spun, his heart ached, and every inch of that abandoned room reminded him just how selfish a man he was.

He stood to his feet and staggered towards the open doorway, but he stopped.

Slowly, he turned and set his eyes upon the violin.

He blinked.

He glanced over at the letters on the desk, then his gaze returned to the violin.

A sudden thought came to him - an idea he never considered until that moment.

He closed his eyes, wanting to erase the notion from his mind, but he could not.

As though moved by an outward force, he went to the desk and snatched up as many letters as he could. He then went to the bed and grabbed the violin before walking out into the hall.

He took a slow, calculated breath, and shut the bedroom door.

* * *

**More to come soon, hopefully!  
If my calculations are correct, you can expect at least five more chapters before Christmas.  
But I am making no promises.  
Anyway, please review! And keep a look out for new chapters soon!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Hey there! I know, compared to my normal postings, this is incredibly early! But hey, I think it's time to pick up the pace. As I mentioned earlier, I am hoping to bring this story to a close before Christmas, and if that is not possible, as least by the New Year. So expect more chapters soon! I hope you enjoy this one! Please comment, I love to hear from you all.**

* * *

_Later that morning_

"Will that be all sir?" the maid asked as she began to clear away a breakfast tray of lukewarm tea and half-eaten toast.

Florian was silent and looked out the window in distant thought.

Antoine spoke for his friend as he entered from the adjoining room, "Yes, thank you."

The girl nodded and hurried from the room, carefully closing the door behind her.

Hearing the door shut, Florian wrinkled his brow.

"What time is it?" he asked wearily, glancing towards Antoine.

He sighed and looked at his watch, "Almost seven."

Florian looked back out to the street. He was not really looking at the street, of course - the view was clouded with a thick morning fog and he could hardly see the cars and people below on the pavement - but it offered a reason not to look at Antoine.

"Really, Florian," Antoine muttered, recognizing his friend's reclusive and gloomy attitude, "We must leave soon," he withdrew to his room but returned, carpetbag in hand.

Antoine laid the bag on the bed and opened it. He stood back, motioning towards it cautiously.

"We agreed it was for the best, remember?" he asked gently, "For Josie?"

With a harsh sigh, Florian stood and moved around the room, retrieving clothes from the chest of drawers and half-heartedly stuffing them into the bag.

A knock came at the door.

Florian made no attempt to stop his hurried packing, even after the second knock, so Antoine went and answered it.

"Yes, what is it?" he asked, recognizing the landlady as she gave him a flat smile.

"Pardon me, sir, but there's a gentleman who wishes to speak with you and your friend," she stated politely.

Antoine shook his head, "That is not possible. We know no one in this country."

He began to close the door, but she continued.

"Please, sir, he is in quite a state," she explained anxiously, "He said his name was Grove. Roger Grove."

Florian stopped in his tracks and lifted his head to exchange a confused glance with Antoine. Without a word, he dropped what clothing he held and walked to the door.

"Where is he?" he asked impatiently, moving passed Antoine and following the landlady to the top of the stairs.

"I showed him to the front waiting room," she said and stepped aside as Antoine hurried down after Florian.

Florian practically glided down the stairs, with Antoine right on his heels.

"Florian, wait," he begged, grabbing his friend's arm when they reached the first landing, "What is going on? Did you ask him to come?"

Florian shook his head and pulled his arm away, "I am as mystified as you."

They continued to the ground floor, passed the front desk, and turned into small waiting room off the lobby. It was a dull room, with an empty china cupboard in the corner and a scattering of mismatched end tables and chairs. It was clear of people, save one man.

Mr. Grove sat along the far wall, anxiously watching the door. He stood to his feet the moment Florian and Antoine entered.

"Forgive me," he began instantly, speaking directly to Florian, "I know this seems rather strange considering our last encounter, but I had to meet with you."

"Are you well?" Florian asked, taking in Mr. Grove's appearance.

The man looked terribly distressed; his hair was a tousled mess and the dark circles under his eyes gave away his fatigue.

Mr. Grove chuckled and looked down at his attire, "Oh, yes, I am fine. I've been all over London since about three this morning," he rambled on, exhaustion in his voice, "Really, there are an incredible amount of hotels in this city! I know that is not really a surprise, but you wouldn't imagine the trouble I've had trying to find you. But, other than a lack of sleep, I am well."

"I see," Florian nodded, still incredibly confused,"But I do not understand. Why spend so much time trying to find me? You made it very clear that you wanted me gone - "

"I was wrong," Mr. Grove stated firmly, "I have been wrong about so many things, but this takes the cake."

"Mr. Grove," Antoine stepped forward between them, "I thought we had settled this."

"Yes, well," Mr. Grove mumbled in defiance and slide a hand into his jacket pocket, pulling out a collection of letters, "I've changed my mind."

He extended his handful of letters to Florian, who stared uneasily at the bundle.

"What are they?" Florian asked.

Mr. Grove shrugged, "I'm not sure. But I know they belonged to you before."

Florian slowly accepted the letters in silence, turning over the pile in his hand and reading the addresses. He blinked as he tracked a finger over the handwriting. Some were in his own hand, both others were different. He did not know how, but he recognized the flowing, feminine script instantly.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked quietly.

"Just read them, all of them," Mr. Grove commanded gently, motioning for him to take a seat, "They may help you remember."

Florian shook his head and looked to Mr. Grove, "I do not think they will," he sat down, disheartened, "If I could not remember anything even after seeing Josie, and holding her, how could a few letters change anything?"

"Just try," Mr. Grove begged, pulling up a chair to sit opposite.

Florian looked down. He wanted to read, to remember. Three days ago he would not have hesitated. But now...

"I cannot," he whispered, handing the letters back to Mr. Grove.

Mr. Grove's eyes widened, "What? Why - "

"Because I would never want to hurt her," Florian interrupted, standing and walking away in frustration, "I do not know what I would do if I suddenly remembered. I may cause a scene and upset her. And like you said, she has a happy life now. It would be selfish - "

"Good God, man!" Mr. Grove shouted abruptly and stood to his feet, "Just read the damn letters!"

Florian turned, confused and startled by Mr. Grove's outburst.

"This is not about you being selfish, it's about me trying not to be," Mr. Grove went on, frantically moving towards Florian, "I have tried to tell myself that this was right, that you and Josie should remain separated. But I can't do it anymore," he put a hand on Florian's shoulder, "I cannot stand by and watch her suffer over your death while I know you are living. My conscious will no longer allow me to be silent."

"But your engagement..." Florian broke in, "You said I would ruin everything - that she deserved to happy without me. I thought you loved her. "

"Of course I love her!" Mr. Grove stated loudly but continued as though his heart were breaking, "I love her with everything I am. And I know she and I could be happy together for the rest of our lives, but…" he hung his head and took a deep breath, "She deserves to know that she can still choose another path," he looked up at Florian wearily, "That other path is with you, Mr. Dupont. If you would only work for it."

Florian watched in silence as Mr. Grove moved to the other side of the room. He reached beside the chair he had occupied before and lifted up a black instrument case. A violin case.

Florian's heart stopped. A solid minute passed before he could speak.

"Is that yours?" he asked, though his voice was weak.

Mr. Grove shook his head.

Florian swallowed hard and blinked, "Whose is it?"

"I was hoping you could tell me, Mr. Dupont."

Mr. Grove held out the case to him, but Florian's mind went blank. He could not think clearly. Everything was in muddled disarray - his thoughts, his emotions.

He lifted his hand and gripped the handle of the violin case carefully. It felt familiar. Too familiar. He did not even have to think before he found himself setting it on a side table and unfastening the latches.

He blinked as he slowly began to lift the lid. The motion felt so natural. But of course it did. He was a violinist, after all. But something about this case, this violin, it was different.

The lid had just barely opened before Florian's eyes rested on the instrument itself. It was beautiful.

He felt a deep tenderness in his chest as he gently ran a hand over the achingly familiar wooden edges and tight strings. His mind was a fog, but a clear moment - several clear moments - crept from a hidden place in his heart.

"This is mine," he whispered as his eyes watered and his heart leapt, "Josie gave this to me when I first arrived."

"Yes, my god, that's right," Mr. Grove's voice rang from somewhere beside him, but Florian could not focus on anything besides his own thoughts.

"And I...I did not want to take it, but she made me," a smile creeping on his face, "She said I could think of home when I played it."

Florian looked up to see Mr. Grove watching him with a crestfallen yet encouraging look in his eye.

"Why don't you play it now?" Mr. Grove suggested though his world would surely be ruined.

* * *

**Yay! Florian is beginning to remember! But could it have unintended consequences? And what will Josie say when she discovers the truth?  
****Stay tuned!  
****And please leave a comment or two! I love you all dearly!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Hi there! Long time no see, right? **

**Haha, I know, this is another early chapter update, **

**but I wanted to get this out there before the rush of finals! **

**I hope you enjoy it! Please leave a review!**

* * *

_Later_

"She says the store is doing well," Florian said quietly.

Roger opened his sleepy eyes and sat straight in his chair. He gruffly cleared his throat. Florian sat beside him, leaning over the pile of letters, reading carefully, and asking questions about points of detail.

"I imagine so. It always is," Roger commented with a weary chuckle.

It'd been almost an hour since Florian's memory began to return and he was making great improvement. After few songs on the violin and a dozen or so letters, he was able recall most everything, or at least enough to piece together a story in his head.

"Agnes went to visit Henri in France," Florian continued on with the letter he held, "Josie says she thinks they will marry there. Did they marry, in the end? Are they living here in London?"

"Yes, they were married. But they moved away," Roger explained, "They returned to France after the war. Henri was..." he paused to think of the right words, "Well, he needed time away from the city," he smiled faintly as he thought of the couple and how much they meant to Josie, "They visit sometimes, for holidays. Josie is godmother to their daughter, actually."

Florian smiled and turned back to his letter. Roger saw a blush spread across the young man's face.

"She says she wishes she could - "

"You know you don't have to read aloud everything," Roger stated abruptly, "These are private conversations between you and Josie, and I hardly think Antoine wants to hear it."

"Nor you, I imagine," Antoine directed to Roger from the other side of the room.

Roger glared as Antoine munched on a piece of toast from the breakfast tray. They had called for it when Florian's appetite began to return, although it was Antoine who ultimately partook of the generous serving.

Roger stood and walked about for a moment, watching in silent dismay as the lights in Florian's eyes sparkled with every word he read. The young man was remembering so much, which was exactly what Roger wanted. But it would change everything.

Josie would learn the truth.

She would come to know what part Roger played in the whole business. What would she say? How would she react?

Roger turned and looked at himself through the mirror on the wall. He knew Josie would despise him. She would return to her life with Florian and she would not take a single backward glance. She had every right to and Roger could hardly argue. But he still loved her.

God, he loved her.

He saw a movement from the corner of his eye and he turned to see Florian walking to the far window, reading a different letter.

"Why did I go to fight?" he asked quietly, "I wanted to marry her...Why would I leave her like that?"

Roger glanced across at Antoine, who now leaned back in his chair, casually sipping tea.

"The war was extremely turbulent at that time. There was no clear end in sight. Everyone was scrambling to find that extra something which might overthrow the enemy," Roger tried to explain, "England, for instance, began accepting older men into the army. Even I was called to service for a time," he shrugged and hung his head, "Perhaps you felt guilty, for staying behind while others fought for your homeland."

Florian blinked and looked out of the window, "Was it really so bad?" he glanced down at the letter in his hand, "I write of men dying, everywhere. Blood and smoke. I know I wrote the words in these letters, but surely I was exaggerating."

Antoine shrugged, "If you bent the truth at all, you weakened it. For her sake. You would not have wanted to worry her with stories of the bloodshed."

Florian inhaled sharply and reached out a hand to lean on a nearby chair.

"Are you alright?" Roger asked as Florian sat down abruptly.

"The cannon-fire haunted me for months after it all ended," Antoine went on, oblivious to his friend's state, "You remember my nightmares, Florian? You thought I was going crazy. And I was, in a way," he sighed and shrugged as he poured himself more tea, "It was a terrible time, my friend. Be glad you do not remember it."

As Antoine spoke, a truck rumbled to a stop outside on the street and there came a shouting as workmen began to unload it. It was a normal enough commotion, but Florian's face went white. Roger stood and moved towards him.

"Mr. Dupont?" he laid a hand on Florian's shoulder and could feel it shaking, "What is the matter?"

There was a sharp bang and Florian shot up from his seat and rushed to the other side of the room.

"Someone dropped a parcel in the truck outside," Antoine tried to calm him, "That is all. My friend, what is wrong?" he asked, walking to Florian and holding his arm to steady him.

"I do not know..." he muttered, looking around the room in fear, "I thought...This isn't right. I see things...horrible things," he closed his eyes and shook his head, but opened them again, "In my head, it's there. But it is not right. Why do I see this?"

"What do you see?" Roger asked, but another loud crash from the street sent Florian into a panic.

"No...no, no! God, no!" He murmured, falling to his knees and putting his hands over his ears, "No...I don't want this! Get it away! Please..."

He rocked back and forth, and curled in on himself as though to shield out whatever horror he saw in his mind. Roger knelt down beside him and held his shoulders, making Florian look him in the eye.

"Florian, talk to us," he begged, "What do you see? How can we help?"

Florian only grew worse. A fit of sobbing tore through him and it was all Roger could to do keep him from collapsing over onto the floor.

Roger looked up to Antoine, his eyes widened in confusion and worry, "I don't understand. What's the matter with him?"

Antoine ran a hand through his hair and paced the length of the room, "Dear God...We have been so blind. How did I not know this would happen?"

"What are you talking about?" Roger asked.

Florian broke from his grasp and stood, stumbling to the door. He clung to the door frame, trembling in terror.

Antoine walked to him and touched his arm, "Mon ami..."

Without word or warning, Florian turned on him, taking Antoine by the throat and forcing him against the wall. His movement was brutal and instant. His eyes were fierce with anger and his body was rigid as he pushed Antoine up on his tip-toes.

"Florian, stop this!" Roger called out, racing to him, "You'll kill him!"

Antoine strained for air and clung to Florian's fingers, their tight grip on his throat growing stronger by the second.

"Florian, stop this," Roger begged, putting a firm hand on his shoulder.

Almost as instantly as it appeared, Florian's rage died away. His eyes softened and he loosened his hold on Antoine, who fell to the ground gasping for air.

"What have I done?" Florian whispered, stepping back in a daze, "That was not me...I did not mean to..."

"Florian, you have to tell me what's wrong," Roger began, but Florian continued.

"I could have killed you," he said, staring down at Antoine, "My dear friend...How could I do that to you? I do not understand..." he looked at his shaking hands and then at Roger, "What is happening to me?"

The telephone at the front desk rang and Florian looked out into the hall, his eyes alert and terrified.

"It was nothing," Roger assured him, "Florian, it was only the telephone."

It rang out again and Florian shook his head, "No! No...no...I have to get out of here."

"Florian, wait!" Roger called out as Florian ran from the room and into the lobby.

Antoine began to cough horribly and Roger knelt to assist him, but looked up in time to see Florian race out the front door and into the foggy street.

"We must go after him," Antoine muttered, trying to stand, "He will kill himself out there."

"I do not understand," Roger blurted as he helped Antoine to his feet, "What is happening to him?"

Antoine took a deep breath, "You wanted him to remember Josie, but you have only made things worse."

"What are you - "

"It is not your fault alone," Antoine interrupted, anger in his voice, "I should have seen this coming...I should have stopped you from letting him remember..."

Roger snapped, his patience reaching its limit, "For God's sake, man, tell me what is wrong with him!"

"He remembers everything: Josie, London," Antoine took a deep breath as he explained, "But also the war. The fighting. The trenches. The death. Everything.

Roger's heart stopped, "My God..."

He had never once considered that Florian might remember the war. But of course he would. If he could remember Josie and his love for her, how could he not also remember the war?

And now those horrific memories were being forced back to the surface of Florian's mind and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it. Florian was reliving everything from his years on the front, very gunshot, every cannon blast, every fallen soldier...everything he'd experienced was coming back to him all in the span of a few moments. And his body and mind could not possibly handle the stress, the fear, the anger.

Roger knew the poor man would go mad out in the busy London streets, and he hated to think what could happen to him.

"Come," he said, seeing how Antoine regained his strength, "He can't have gone far. We must find him before it's too late."

Almost as soon as the words escaped his mouth, screeching tires and car horns erupted outside on the street. Shouts of confusion rang out, but it was a single woman's scream which made the hairs on Roger's neck stand straight.

"Somebody help! Please, anybody!"

* * *

**Oh dear...**

**What a mess we're in now! **

**Keep a look out for more chapters **

**And please write a review!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Happy Holidays!  
I hope you all are having a wonderful winter season.  
It's been crazy for me, with finals and exams, but it is all over now!  
I can finally focus and get this story finished!  
Enjoy this chapter! And stay tuned for more!**

* * *

_8 oclock am_

Josie sat at her dressing table slowly brushing her hair. She'd been at it for almost an hour, mindlessly combing through the short waves. She hadn't slept all night and it showed. Her eyes were heavy and she looked positively grief-stricken. But she was fine. Or that's what she tried telling herself, anyway.

A soft knocking at her bedroom door caught her attention and she quickly broke from her daze.

"Yes, come in," she muttered and turned with a faint smile when Meryl poked her head in.

"Breakfast is waiting if you want to eat something before work," the girl said, walking inside the room slowly, "The boys went out with Nanny to the park and the girls are playing in the back garden, so no one will bother you."

Josie reached out her hand to Meryl, "You are a sweet girl, my dear. Thank you."

Meryl took her hand and held it tightly, "You do not look well. Should I have Emily call for a doctor?"

"No… no, I am alright," Josie assured her, turning round to face the mirror, "I don't look it, but in five minutes, I shall be myself again. Do not worry."

Meryl nodded and watched silently as Josie began to pin back her hair.

"What is it?" Josie asked, seeing a concerned look in Meryl's eyes.

She shrugged and tilted her head, "I heard you and Papa talking last night. You sounded upset. I just thought…" she looked down, fidgeting with the hem of her jumper, "That is, I know how he can be sometimes and…and I just hope he hasn't said anything too horrible."

"Oh, my darling," Josie stood and embraced Meryl tightly, "I am so sorry you heard all that. It was nothing, I promise you," she stepped back and sighed, "I was upset about something, but it was not his fault. Your papa was trying to help me and - "

"It was about that man, wasn't it?" Meryl asked quietly.

Josie blinked and fanned a curious smile, "What man?"

"The one that used to stay with you," Meryl explained with an embarrassed shrug, "Miss. Agnes told us about him that Christmas we first came to live here. Arthur asked why we couldn't go into that room in the hall. She tried explaining, but they didn't understand, and neither did I," she looked up and smiled sadly, "But I think I do now."

Josie took a deep breath and patted Meryl's hands, "You are right. It was about that man - "

"You loved him, didn't you? Like you love Papa."

Meryl's innocent question made Josie's heart ache. It was something she'd never really thought about.

No. That wasn't entirely true. She did think about it. She thought about it all the time.

"I do not know," she whispered and then cleared her throat as she sat back down to her dressing table, "It was different."

"How?"

Josie turned, determination in her eyes, but words failed her.

"Well, I was...I mean, he didn't..." she smiled sadly and shook her head, "Love is not black and white, my dear. Authors and poets write it out so beautifully, but it is difficult to explain when you are the one living it."

Meryl nodded in understanding.

Josie went on with her morning routine as Meryl continued to ask more and more questions about the mysterious man.

"Was he a soldier?" she asked, laying face up on the bed with her head hanging upside down over the edge.

"No," Josie stated, pausing a moment as she applied a layer of lipstick, "He was a musician. A violinist, actually."

"Why was he here? Couldn't he get his own flat?"

"Well, no," Josie explained and powdered her nose, "He was a refugee. His home was destroyed before the war and he had no money, no one he could stay with - "

"Oh, I remember!" Meryl exclaimed, turning over to lay on her stomach, "The Germans invaded Belgium, right?"

Josie nodded and wrinkled her brow, "Yes, that's right. How did - "

"We've learned about it in school," Meryl said with a smile, "The history exams were terribly tricky this year, but I did well. "

"That's wonderful, dear…"

Josie let out an exasperated sigh as she attempted to fasten on a pearl necklace. Meryl moved from the bed to help her.

"Belgium must be beautiful," Meryl mused, day dreaming like any young girl as she clasped the necklace and smoothed down the collar on Josie's dress, "I'd like to travel there someday, you know. I could practice my French and - Oh blast!" she blurted with a laugh, "I could have spoken to him in French! How stupid of me to have forgotten!"

"Who are you talking about?" Josie asked, dabbing perfume on her wrists.

"That man I talked to yesterday that was asking for you. He said he was from Belgium and I wish I'd thought to use my French. I do not know what help it would have been, but I could have tried," she giggled, "He was really very handsome. I wish you could have been here. I was cautious as first, of course, because he was a stranger, but he was incredibly kind. He said he had come a long way and he was very upset that you weren't here. Did you see him at the store? I told him he could ask for you there."

Josie was silent. Her heart beat a steady rhythm but she felt it increasing ever so slightly. Though she heard Meryl's question, she could not utter the words to answer it.

"Aunt Josie?" Meryl asked, "Have I upset you? You look terribly pale."

Josie blinked and shook her head, "No, of course not, my dear. I've only just realized how late I will be if I do not hurry."

She stood and moved to gather her hat and gloves when she heard the front door open and thunderous footsteps climb the stairs. Her bedroom door was flung open and Roger stepped forward.

"Papa!" Meryl shouted, rushing to embrace him, "Where have you been? I've been worried sick!"

"What are you talking about?" Josie asked Meryl, but seeing the distraught look on Roger's face and the disheveled state of his clothing, she turned her attention to him, "My dear, what has happened? Are you alright?"

Roger shook his head, catching his breath. He was horribly troubled, that much was obvious. He was white as a sheet and could not look her in the eye for more than a few seconds.

"I cannot explain it all now," he said quietly, "You will never believe me. But we must leave. Now."

He turned and hurried out of the room and towards the stairs. Josie followed him a ways but remained in her bedroom doorway, watching him.

"Roger - "

"Please, we cannot wait," he urged, gesturing for her to walk down ahead of him, "I have a cab waiting outside."

As she continued forward, Josie exchanged a glance with Meryl, who was just as confused and worried as she.

"What about work?" Josie asked, descending the stairs with Roger right behind her.

"Emily, please telephone Mr. Crabb at the store," Roger commanded when the maid appeared from the dining room, breakfast tray in hand.

"Oh course," Emily muttered, setting the tray on a side table and hurrying to the telephone, "What shall I say, sir?"

Roger sighed as he grabbed his coat from the rack by the door, "Say we hate to leave him in the lurch, but Miss. Mardle and I cannot possibly come into work today — "

"Roger?" Josie exclaimed, "What is the matter with you? It's the biggest day of the winter promotion! Fashion will be a mad house without me."

"Tell him we have a family emergency," Roger continued his instructions, ignoring Josie's questioning remark, "If he asks for particulars, tell him I will explain everything as soon as I am able."

"When will you be back?" Meryl asked, helping Josie put on her coat.

Roger checked his watch and shrugged, "Who knows. But really, we have to leave this instant."

Josie began to follow him to the front door, but turned back to Meryl and Emily.

"I will call if I can," she whispered, taking Meryl's hand, "Do not worry. All will be well."

"You don't know that," the girl murmured and looked passed Josie to Roger, who stood in the door, waiting impatiently, "I've never seen him like this. What if something is wrong? What if - "

Josie swallowed hard as she slid on her leather gloves, "I said don't worry. Please, just…"

"Josie, please, the taxi is waiting," Roger implored.

She gave Meryl a quick kiss on the forehead before she began again towards the door.

Roger lead her down to the cab and threw open the door. He extended his hand to help her in, but withdrew it before she had a chance to thank him.

Josie watched him carefully as he closed her door and then walked around the taxi. She wanted to unravel the mystery behind his behavior, but it was impossible. He was guilty and frightened - But why?

Whatever troubled him was something horrible, something he could not forgive himself for. And Josie hated that she could not help him.

"Driver, please, take us back to the hospital," Roger stated quietly, entering from the other side.

"Roger -"

"Don't…" he begged harshly.

The silence which fell between them as the cab drove on was heavy with fear and doubt. With each passing moment, Josie felt as though the trust and understanding they had built over the last five years was disappearing. And she did not know why.

* * *

**Oh dear...what has happened?  
Something terrible, that's for sure! Mwahahaa  
New chapters to come!  
Please review!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Hello all! It's been a crazy holiday season and I apologize wholeheartedly for not publishing chapters before the New Year. My computer died unexpectedly and I've only now been able to recover my files for this story. But enough pity-party, here's a new chapter to celebrate the premiere of the final season! Remember to review!**

**BTW I have only now learned that Lady Mae's new name in Series 4 is Madame Rennard, due to her remarriage. I assure you that the similarity of her name with my OC Antoine Renard was a complete and utter coincidence! Rather funny, right? Anywho, enjoy!**

* * *

_Moments later_

Roger remained silent throughout the drive, though Josie urged him to reveal the mystery behind his worrisome state.

"I wish to God I could," he stated in a whisper, "But I cannot. Not yet."

She watched him as he avoided her eye and looked out on to the foggy street. She wanted to understand his worry, to help him overcome whatever trouble he faced, but he would not allow it.

It was some time before the cab could maneuver through the crowded streets and traffic.

Eventually they pulled up in front of the hospital and Roger helped Josie out.

"Come this way," he said, leading her through a side door and into an empty stairwell.

"What is going on?" she asked, trying to keep up with him as he practically raced up the stairs, "Why are we here? Roger, please!"

She reached out and grabbed his coat sleeve, stopping him in his tracks as they reached the third floor landing.

She saw him close his eyes in defeat but he slowly pulled his arm away and stepped aside.

"You will understand in time," he said, gesturing to the door, "Please, just, don't ask any more questions. I cannot bear it."

Josie nodded slowly and stepped through to the hallway as Roger held open the door. A man quickly approached them, his face lined with anxiety.

"Thank god!" he murmured, taking Josie's hands with unexpected familiarity, "I thought you would be too late."

"How is he?" Roger asked the man.

"Better, thank God. The doctor said he may be unconscious for some time," the man explained with a worried sigh, "They have done what they can and they think he will be alright in the end."

Josie heard the accent in the man's voice and blinked. She recognized it, somehow. She searched his clear green eyes, but she did not know him.

Josie looked to Roger, "My dear, who is this?"

Roger cleared his throat, "Antoine Renard. He…"

"Please,this way," Mr. Renard begged suddenly, turning and guiding Josie further down the hallway.

They stopped at an interior window looking into a small room that was full of metal hospital beds, all empty, save one in the farthest corner of the room.

Josie hardly had time to look inside before Roger took her by the arm, gently forcing her to look away.

"This may be quite a shock," he began, his saddened eyes gazing over her face, "And I hardly know how to prepare you. But - "

Josie shook her head and moved from him to look again into the room.

She could hardly see through the distorted glass, but her eyes fell on the occupied bed and the figure in it. She felt a sort of jolt in her heart, though she did not know why.

She took a step toward the open door and peered inside, curious.

One look was all it took to send an electric pain through her entire body.

"Oh my god…" she whispered, closing her eyes and turning her back.

She lifted a hand to her mouth as her breathing became erratic. The confusion in her head was nothing compared to the spasms in her heart. It was joy and despair all at once. Her ears rang and her knees felt weak. She thought she might faint.

"Oh my god…" she muttered again and reached out a hand to steady herself against the wall.

"Josie…" she heard Roger's voice but she shook her head.

"Don't…" she said sharply.

"Darling," he laid a hand on her shoulder but she shook it off harshly.

"Do not touch me!" she spat, moving away from him and into the hospital room.

She stopped a few paces inside and stared in silence at him. Florian.

It was him. She was certain of it. It had to be. But how? It was impossible.

She inhaled slowly as she continued to his bed.

The closer she got, the more her eyes watered.

It _was_ him.

She finally reached the foot of the bed and stood there.

_Florian._

Her breathing slowed as she watched him sleeping. He had a thick bandage around his head and another on his ribcage. His face was bloodied and he had bruising all along his bare chest. He looked awful.

But it was him. She knew his face. His hair. His figure.

She inhaled sharply and stepped back when she saw his chest raise and lower. He was breathing. He was alive.

She slowly moved and sat in the chair by the bed. She watched him. Florian.

She looked down at his hand that lay at his side. It was still, unmoving, but it looked as though he were reaching to her, somehow.

She quickly wiped a tear from her cheek then cautiously reached out to grasp his hand. When she felt the solid flesh and bone, everything she'd bottled up came pouring out. Her eyes flooded over and her sobs echoed through the empty room.

She did not know how long she wept, nor did she care.

Florian was alive. After so many years, after all the heartache.

After some time, she felt his hand tighten around hers.

"Josie?" a hoarse voice whispered.

Her heart stopped. She looked up slowly, still uncertain, but when she saw Florian gazing weakly at her, she smiled through tears of joy.

"Yes, my darling," she murmured, gently moving to sit on the edge of the bed, "It's me… It's your Josie."

He smiled and wearily lifted a hand to caress her face.

"I thought I had lost you," he said, searching her eyes.

"And I, you," she replied as tears fell on her cheeks, "I thought…I thought you were…"

"Do not talk of it," he said and wiped away her tears, "It is in the past now -"

"But I don't understand…" Josie gasped through her crying, "How is this possible? How are you here?"

"Does it matter?" he asked.

Josie smiled and nodded, pausing to kiss his hand.

"You are right, but…" she opened her eyes to meet his, "I just need to know. The army said you were dead and I…I really thought -"

"It is a long story," he said, lowering his hand from her face, "In the war…I…" he swallowed hard and closed his eyes, "The explosion…the fighting - "

His voice weakened and he jerked his head back.

"Florian?" Josie called out to him and quickly stood as his body began to shake wildly.

His arms thrashed about and he cried out, shouting and moaning in pain and confusion.

"Move aside, miss, please," a nurse hurried to her side, along with Mr. Renard and Roger.

Josie obeyed and watched in horror as Roger and Mr. Renard held down Florian's shoulders as the nurse fed him some sort of tonic. A moment passed as Florian's shaking slowly began to cease. His body went limp and his eyes closed in deep sleep.

Roger and Mr. Renard stood back as the Nurse opened Florian's eyes and took his pulse.

"He will sleep for a while," she said to Mr. Renard, before removing the bandages from Florian's head and wiping his brow with a damp cloth, "But you must tell me the moment he awakes again, do you understand?"

Mr. Renard nodded and the nurse quickly left.

The room filled with silence as Josie gazed at Florian. She heard Roger and Mr. Renard mumble to each other.

"What happened?" she interrupted quietly, not looking away from Florian.

"He…Well, it was all a bit of a blur…" Roger began, but Josie closed her eyes in contempt.

"He was walking in the street this morning," Mr. Renard continued, stepping towards her nervously, "A car was driving along in the fog and the driver could not see. Florian did not move in time and he was knocked down - "

"You know what I mean," Josie stated, lifting her eyes to Roger, "How is he alive?"

He blinked and tried to look away, but Josie held his gaze with all the inner-strength she could muster.

Mr. Renard spoke up.

"It was a long time ago. At the end of the war…"

He continued with his tale, but Josie only half listened. Mr. Renard talked of Florian's selfless act of bravery, his injuries, memory loss, the fake letter… She could not stand it. Every word, every explanation made her stomach churn. But she held a cold facade through the entire story and kept her teary eyes on Roger.

* * *

**Goodness me...  
I could never resist a touch of melodrama.**

**More to come! Please Review!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Hi everyone! You all must hate me, I'm sure. **  
**I am sooooo sorry that my updates take so long! **  
**But school's been crazy and with the new/final season I just couldn't bring myself to write anymore. **  
**I have no many feelings about season four, but that shall have to wait till my next story, won't it? **  
**Anyway, enjoy this new, highly anticipated chapter! **

* * *

"…and that's when he decided to come to London," Mr. Renard said, starting to bring his tale to a close.

Josie stared at Roger from her seat beside Florian, but she listened to Mr. Renard intently.

"He could not remember a thing," Mr. Renard explained in quiet awe as he sat on the edge of the next empty cot, "Still, he knew he needed to find you."

Josie's heart warmed but she heard Mr. Renard sigh in frustration.

"But now he remembers too much…" he stated softly.

"Too much?" she asked, looking to him.

"Not only does he remember you…but he remembers everything about the war as well," he stood and moved to the side of Florian's bed, "It is too much for him to handle. That is why he was in the street this morning. He went mad trying to escape the enemy in his head."

Josie swallowed hard, "I see."

A cold silence filled the room as she continued to stare at Roger.

She did not know what to say. Everything she learned about Florian's time after the war made her want to cry out in anger or burst into tears. But there was still much she needed to understand about the whole situation.

She sensed a movement from Florian and turned just in time to see his eyes open.

"My dear?" she asked, sitting forward and taking his hand, "Are you alright?"

His head shook abruptly and he pulled his hand away from hers. His body began to spasm like before, but this time it was worse.

"Nurse!" Mr. Renard shouted as he hurried to the door, "Help! Nurse!"

Josie felt a hand on her arm and looked up to see Roger.

"Please, come away," he insisted urgently as he helped her to stand, "The doctors will see to him. Don't worry."

Josie fought against him, "No! I can't leave him like this."

"Josie, come now!" Roger held her tightly and pulled her away just as the nurse and two doctors rushed in and huddled around the bed.

"Please, let me stay with him! Please…" she begged, trying to pry herself from Roger's grip.

She could not fight him off and she began to weep as he forced her out into the hallway.

Once outside, he closed the door and let her go. She waited a moment, catching her breath. She felt dizzy, furious, confused.

A man's scream echoed from inside the hospital room and sent a jolt through Josie's heart.

"My God what are they doing to him?" she murmured, instantly racing for the door.

"My darling, you do not want to see what they do to him," he said, baring the door though she tried to push passed him, "It will help him but it is difficult to watch."

She ignored him and moved to the window. She could not see what the doctors were doing, but Florian's painful moans forced her to look away.

"What are they doing to him?" she asked again, staring across at the opposite wall.

"I do not know," Roger said and wiped a hand across his brow, "It is far too complicated for me, but Mr. Renard seems to understand."

Josie closed her eyes and hung her head, taking slow breaths as Florian's cries slowly died away.

A moment passed, but she felt Roger's eyes on her.

"Josie, I -"

He was interrupted when the door flung open and the nurse stepped out.

"How is he?" Josie asked nervously.

The nurse smiled, "He will be fine. It just takes time, miss."

Josie started for the door, but the nurse stopped her.

"You mustn't disturb him, miss," she urged, "The doctors are finishing their work and Mr. Renard will stay with him. He will let you know if anything changes."

The nurse quickly continued down the hall, leaving Josie and Roger alone in silence.

Josie wrung her hands and gazed into nothingness, thinking. Her heart ached as she fought against the passionate bursts of anger that threatened to erupt in her chest. She needed to understand everything…she needed the whole story.

"Bloody awful business, this," Roger mumbled.

She closed her eyes.

Roger stood a short distance away but it felt as though a canyon lay between them.

"He will be fine, don't you worry," he said.

Josie took a deep, slow breath. She wanted to cry, to scream, but she held it all inside.

She took a step back and leaned against the wall. She sniffled back a tear, opened her eyes, and tilted her head up. She stood tall but she wanted to crumble to the floor.

"Come now," Roger said, stepping towards her carefully, "I can get you something. Tea. Or a coffee. There's a shop just across the street."

She still could not bring herself to respond.

It must only have been a minute or two, but it felt like an hour before Roger spoke again, breaking the silence.

"Josie -" he said, a deep pain in his voice, "Please… say something. Anything."

She remained silent. She needed to think, to process everything she'd learned. But it was too much.

"Josie," he continued, "Darling, please, I -"

"How long have you known?" she asked in a deathly quiet whisper.

Roger was silent and she turned to look at him, though her stomach churned with anger and grief.

"Tell me," she cleared her throat expectantly, "I know Mr. Renard's version of events, but I want to hear yours."

"Well…" he began, shrugging and looking down to the floor, "I hardly know how to begin -"

"Don't toy with me, Roger," she blurted as her shaky calmness gave way to heated anger, "Because if I find out you knew…" she walked to him abruptly, pointing an accusatory finger into his chest, "If I learn you have known all this time, all these years…" her lip quivered and she began to cry, "I will never forgive you, do you understand? Never!"

He slowly grasped the hand she held against him as her sobs continued. Her heart was breaking and she could not help but rest her head against his shoulder. Though she wanted to hate him, she found herself clinging to him for support.

"It was nothing like that," he whispered into her hair, "I swear to you."

Josie stepped back and looked up to him, silently awaiting the truth.

Roger sighed, his hand still gripping hers.

"Tuesday," he muttered, "I've known since Tuesday -"

"Oh God…" Josie gasped and put a hand over her mouth.

She felt Roger try to put an arm around her and she stepped away instantly.

"Don't touch me!" she snapped.

"I saw him at the store with Mr. Renard," Roger explained, "I could not believe it was him. I…" he shrugged, trying to find the word to describe what he had felt, "I froze. I panicked! You saw the state I was in -"

"Yes," Josie stated with a broken laugh, "Yes, you were so shocked that you could not bother to tell me why!"

"I did not know how to!" Roger argued, lifting his voice, "They left the store without any sort of explanation and I could not piece together how it was possible, how he could be alive. Would you honestly expect me to tell you the truth when I did not know the whole of it myself?"

Josie spun around to face him, to counter his story, but she knew he was right, somehow.

"Well, when did you learn the truth?" she asked sternly, folding her arms.

Roger shrugged, "Yesterday -"

She scoffed sadly and put a hand on her hip as she turned from him and began to pace.

"Mr. Renard came to me and told me the story you have yourself just heard," Roger sighed and ran a hand through his hair, "We talked and we decided it was better for everyone if Florian returned to Belgium -"

"Better for everyone? Really?" Josie questioned cynically.

"It's true!" Roger argued.

"And it was really him, wasn't it? Last night? That 'delivery boy'?" Josie continued walking about anxiously, "God, I knew it was him…" she stopped and closed her eyes for a moment before turning to glare at Roger, "He was there, right in front of me, and you lied to me!"

"You fainted -"

"I woke up!" she shouted, then became quiet, "I woke up and he was gone," she continued to hold his gaze, "You got him out of the house, somehow, didn't you? And then you held me as I cried," she shook her head in disgust, "You told me Florian was gone, that I needed to get over his death, but all the while you knew…" she hung her head, her heart weak with anger and betrayal.

"How could you do it?" she asked, looking up to Roger after a short time, "After all the pain and heartache I have suffered because of his death. How could you stay silent for so long?"

Roger's eyes turned from guilt to anger in a smoldering second.

"You ask me this," he spat as she turned her back to him, "But you know full well you did the same thing when you concealed the truth about Doris' affair with Billy."

Josie's eyes closed. She froze, her back straightening as a chill spread across her skin.

"Josie, I…" she heard Roger speak but her heart was cold.

"Don't you dare…" she whispered, "Don't you dare…"

"Forgive me," he muttered and she heard him walking towards her, "I didn't mean it -"

"No, you did," she stated, turning to him with cold eyes, "I know you meant it because I know you," she shook her head, "I have known you for over twenty-five years. And all this time I have worried over you, loved you, and stood by you…" she shook her head, smiling sadly at him, "But nothing ever changes with you, does it? You meddle and manipulate. And I…" her voice broke and she looked away, "I can't take it anymore, Roger. I can't…"

He stepped close to her, "Josie, please -"

"Don't…" she held out a hand to stop him from moving closer, but the look in his eyes caught her off guard.

He was repentant, scared, guilty, broken. There was sincere regret in his heart, she could see it.

"Just leave," she whispered.

"Josie -"

"I can't do this anymore. I just can't," she shook her head and turned from him.

She moved to the window and looked through to where Florian rested.

She could see Roger through the glass reflection and her heart wept for him. He was so shaken by her words, so disappointed in himself and what he'd done. She wanted to turn around and throw her arms around him, declare she still loved him despite everything. But she did not. How could she possibly love him after this?

"Just go, please," she begged, closing her eyes to erase the sight of his apologetic looks.

"As you wish," he muttered quietly.

Her heart stopped and she quickly turned back around, but he was already gone.

* * *

**Oh dear me! :(**  
**Poor Josie...****Poor Roger**  
**It's just a mess, isn't it?**

**Please review!  
And keep a look out for more updates.  
They will be coming, I promise :)**


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